The news had to be told: Mark drew his father into the dining-hall and served him with wine.
"This marriage will mean a splendid future for us all, Mark," continued the High-Bailiff, as he pledged his son in a tankard of wine: "here's to the happy young people and to the coming prosperity of our house. No more humiliations, Mark; no more fears of that awful Inquisition. We shall belong to the ruling class now, tyranny can touch us no longer."
And the news had to be told. Clémence van Rycke had said nothing to her husband about Laurence's letter--so it all had to be told, quietly and without preambles.
"Laurence has gone out of the house, father, vowing that he would never marry donna Lenora de Vargas."
It took some time before the High-Bailiff realised that Mark was not jesting; the fact had to be dwelt upon, repeated over and over again, explained and insisted on before the father was made to understand that his son had played him false and had placed the family fortunes and the lives of its members in deadly jeopardy thereby.
"He has gone!" reiterated Mark for the tenth time, "gone with the intention not to return. At the reception to-night the bride will be waiting, and the bridegroom will not be there. The Duke of Alva will ask where is the bride-groom whom he hath chosen for the great honour, and echo will only answer 'Where?'"
Charles van Rycke was silent. He pushed away from him the tankard and bottle of wine. His face was the colour of lead.
"This means ruin for us all, Mark," he murmured, "black, hideous ruin; Alva will never forgive; de Vargas will hate us with the hatred born of humiliation.... A public affront to his daughter! ... O Holy Virgin protect us!" he continued half-incoherently, "it will mean the scaffold for me, the stake for your mother..."
He rose and said curtly, "I must speak with your mother."
He went to the door but his step was unsteady. Mark forestalled him and placed himself against the door with his hand on the latch.